Chapter 2
If it's more than a week that you've been here, Surely you've heard how Knut Storedragen got a lesson severe.
Up on the barn of Ola-Per Kviste after a punchin': "When Nils heaves you again, take with you some luncheon."
Hans Bugge, he was a man so renowned, Haunting ghosts of his name spread alarm all around.
"Tailor Nils, where you wish to lie, now declare! On that spot will I spit and lay your head right there."--
"Oh, just come up so near, that I know you by the scent! Think not that by your jaw to earth I shall be bent!"
When first they met, 't was scarce a bout at all, Neither man was ready yet to try to get a fall.
The second time Hans Bugge slipped his hold. "Are you tired now, Hans Bugge? The dance will soon be bold."
The third time Hans fell headlong, and forth the blood did spurt. "Why spit you now so much, man?" -- "Oh my, that fall did hurt!"--
Saw you a tree casting shadows on new-fallen snow? Saw you Nils on a maiden smiling glances bestow?
Have you seen Tailor Nils when the dance he commences? Are you a maiden, then go!--It's too late, when you've lost your senses.
VENEVIL (FROM ARNE) (See Note 2)
Fair Venevil hastened with tripping feet Her lover to meet. He sang, so it rang o'er the church far away: "Good-day! Good-day!"
And all the little birds sang right merrily their lay: "Midsummer Day Brings us laughter and play; But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
She twined him a wreath of the flowers blue: "My eyes for you!" He tossed it and caught it and to her did bend: "Good-by, my friend!" And loudly he exulted at the field's far distant end: "Midsummer Day Brings us laughter and play; But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
She twined him a wreath: "Do at all you care For my golden hair?" She twined one, and gave in life's hour so rare Her red lips' pair; He took them and he pressed them, and he blushed as she did there.
She twined one all white as a lily-band: "'T is my right hand." She twined one blood-red, with her love in each strand: "'T is my left hand." He took them both and kept them both, but would not understand.
She twined of the flowers that bloomed around "Every one I found!" She gathered and twined, while tears would her eyes fill: "Take them you will!" In silence then he took them, but to flight he turned him still.
She twined one so large, of discordant hue: "My bride's-wreath true!" She twined it and twined, till her fingers were sore: "Crown me, I implore!" But when she turned, he was not there, she never saw him more.
She twined yet undaunted without a stay At her bride's-array. But now it was long past the Midsummer Day, All the flowers away: She twined it of the flowers, though they all were now away! "Midsummer Day Brings us laughter and play; But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
OVER THE LOFTY MOUNTAINS (FROM ARNE) (See Note 3)
Wonder I must, what I once may see Over the lofty mountains! Eyes shall meet only snow, may be; Standing here, each evergreen tree Over the heights is yearning;-- Will it be long in learning?
Pinions strong bear the eagle away Over the lofty mountains Forth to the young and vigorous day; There he exults in the swift, wild play, Rests where his spirit orders,-- Sees all the wide world's borders.
Full-leaved the apple-tree wishes naught Over the lofty mountains! Spreading, when summer hither is brought, Waiting till next time in its thought; Many a bird it is swinging, Knowing not what they are singing.
He who has longed for twenty years Over the lofty mountains, He who knows that he never nears, Smaller feels with the lapsing years, Heeds what the bird is singing Cheerily to its swinging.
Garrulous bird, what will you here Over the lofty mountains? Surely your nest was there less drear, Taller the trees, the outlook clear;-- Will you then only bring me Longings, but naught to wing me?
Shall I then never, never go Over the lofty mountains? Shall to my thoughts this wall say,--No! Stand with terror of ice and snow, Barring the way unwended, Coffin me when life is ended?
Out will I! Out!--Oh, so far, far, far, Over the lofty mountains! Here is this cramping, confining bar, Baffling my thoughts, that so buoyant are;-- Lord! Let me try the scaling, Suffer no final failing!
_Sometime_ I know I shall rise and soar Over the lofty mountains. Hast Thou already ajar Thy door?-- Good is Thy home! Yet, Lord, I implore, Hold not the gates asunder,-- Leave me my longing wonder!
THE DAY OF SUNSHINE (FROM ARNE)
It was such a lovely sunshine-day, The house and the yard couldn't hold me; I roved to the woods, on my back I lay, In cradle of fancy rolled me; But there were ants, and gnats that bite, The horse-fly was keen, the wasp showed fight.
"Dear me, don't you want to be out in this fine weather?" --said mother, who sat on the steps and sang.
It was such a lovely sunshine-day, The house and the yard couldn't hold me; A meadow I found, on my back I lay, And sang what my spirit told me; Then snakes came crawling, a fathom long, To bask in the sun,--I fled with my song.
"In such blessed weather we can go barefoot,"--said mother, as she pulled off her stockings.
It was such a lovely sunshine-day, The house and the yard couldn't hold me; I loosened a boat, on my back I lay, While blithely the current bowled me; But hot grew the sun, and peeled my nose; Enough was enough, and to land I chose.
"Now these are just the days to make hay in,"-- said mother, as she stuck the rake in it.
It was such a lovely sunshine-day, The house and the yard couldn't hold me; I climbed up a tree, oh, what bliss to play, As cooling the breeze consoled me; But worms soon fell on my neck, by chance, And jumping, I cried: "'T is the Devil's own dance!"
"Yes, if the cows aren't sleek and shiny to-day, they'll never be so,"--said mother, gazing up the hillside.
It was such a lovely sunshine-day, The house and the yard couldn't hold me; I dashed to the waterfall's endless play, There only could peace enfold me. The shining sun saw me drown and die,-- If you made this ditty, 't was surely not I.
"Three more such sunshine-days, and everything will be in,"--said mother, and went to make my bed.
INGERID SLETTEN (FROM ARNE)
Ingerid Sletten of Sillejord Neither gold nor silver did own, But a little hood of gay wool alone, Her mother had given of yore.
A little hood of gay wool alone, With no braid nor lining, was here; But parent love made it ever dear, And brighter than gold it shone.
She kept the hood twenty years just so: "Be it spotless," softly she cried, "Until I shall wear it once as bride, When I to the altar go."
She kept the hood thirty years just so: "Be it spotless," softly she cried, "Then wear it I will, a gladsome bride, When it to our Lord I show."
She kept the hood forty years just so, With her mother ever in mind. "Little hood, be with me to this resigned, That ne'er to the altar we'll go."
She steps to the chest where the hood has lain, And seeks it with swelling heart; She guides her hand to its place apart,-- But never a thread did remain.
THE TREE (FROM ARNE)
Ready with leaves and with buds stood the tree. "Shall I take them?" the frost said, now puffing with glee. "Oh my, no, let them stand, Till flowers are at hand!" All trembling from tree-top to root came the plea.
Flowers unfolding the birds gladly sung. "Shall I take them?" the wind said and merrily swung. "Oh my, no, let them stand, Till cherries are at hand!" Protested the tree, while it quivering hung.
The cherries came forth 'neath the sun's glowing eye. "Shall I take them?" a rosy young girl's eager cry. "Oh my, yes, you can take, I've kept them for your sake!" Low bending its branches, the tree brought them nigh.
THE MELODY (FROM ARNE)
The youth in the woods spent the whole day long, The whole day long; For there he had heard such a wonderful song, Wonderful song.
Willow-wood gave him a flute so fair, A flute so fair,-- To try, if within were the melody rare, Melody rare.
Melody whispered and said: "I am here!" Said: "I am here!" But while he was listening, it fled from his ear, Fled from his ear.
Oft when he slept, it to him crept, It to him crept; And over his forehead in love it swept, In love it swept.
When he would seize it, his sleep took flight, His sleep took flight; The melody hung in the pallid night, In the pallid night.
"Lord, O my God, take me therein, Take me therein! The melody rare all my soul doth win, My soul doth win."
Answered the Lord: "'T is your friend alone, Your friend alone; Though never an hour you it shall own, You it shall own."
OUR COUNTRY (1859) (See Note 4)
A land there is, lying near far-northern snow, Where only the fissures life's springtime may know. But surging, the sea tells of great deeds done, And loved is the land as a mother by son.
What time we were little and sat on her knee, She gave us her saga with pictures to see. We read till our eyes opened wide and moist, While nodding and smiling she mute rejoiced.
We went to the fjord and in wonder beheld The ashen-gray bauta, that record of eld; Still older she stood and her silence kept, While stone-studded hows all around us slept.
Our hands she then took and away o'er the hill She led to the church ever lowly and still, Where humbly our forefathers knelt to pray, And mildly she taught us: "Do ye as they!"
She scattered her snow on the mountain's steep side, Then bade on swift skis her young manhood to glide; The North Sea she maddened with scourge of gales, Then bade her young manhood to hoist the sails.
Of beautiful maidens she gathered a throng, To follow our daring with smiles and with song, While she sat enthroned with her saga's scroll In mantle of moonlight beneath the Pole.
Then "Forward, go forward!" was borne on the wind, "With forefathers' aim and with forefathers' mind, For freedom, for Norsehood, for Norway, hurrah!" While echoing mountains voiced their hurrah.
Then life-giving fountains burst forth on our sight, Then we were baptized with her spirit of might, Then gleamed o'er the mountains a vision high, That summons us onward until we die.
SONG FOR NORWAY (1859) NATIONAL HYMN (See Note 5)
Yes, we love this land that towers Where the ocean foams; Rugged, storm-swept, it embowers Many thousand homes. Love it, love it, of you thinking, Father; mother dear, And that night of saga sinking Dreamful to us here.
This the land that Harald guarded With his hero-throng, This the land that Haakon warded, Hailed by Eyvind's song. Olaf here the cross erected, While his blood he shed; Sverre's word this land protected 'Gainst the Roman dread.
Peasants whetted axes carried, Broke th' invader's blow; Tordenskjold flashed forth and harried, Lighted home the foe. Women oft to arms were leaping, Manlike in their deed; Others' lot was naught but weeping, Tears that brought their meed.
Many truly were we never, But we did suffice, When in times of testing ever Worthy was the prize. For we would the land see burning, Rather than its fall; Memory our thoughts is turning Down to Fredrikshald!
Harder times we bore that tried us Were cast off in scorn; In that crisis was beside us Blue-eyed freedom born. That gave father-strength for bearing Famine-need and sword, Honor death itself outwearing, And it gave accord.
Far our foe his weapons flinging Up his visor raised; We in wonder to him springing On our brother gazed. Both by wholesome shame incited Southward made our way; _Brothers three_, in heart united, We shall stand for aye!
Men of Norway, high or lowly, Give to God the praise! He our land's Defender Holy In its darkest days! All our fathers here have striven And our mothers wept, Hath the Lord His guidance given, So our right we kept.
Yes, we love this land that towers Where the ocean foams; Rugged, storm-swept, it embowers Many thousand homes. As our fathers' conflict gave it Vict'ry at the end, Also we, when time shall crave it, Will its peace defend.
THE CALL (FROM A HAPPY BOY)
Come calf now to mother, Come lamb that I choose, Come cats, one and t' other, With snowy-white shoes, Come gosling all yellow, Come forth with your fellow, Come chickens so small, Scarce walking at all, Come doves, that are mine now, With feathers so fine now! The grass is bedewed, The sunlight renewed, It's early, early, summer's advancing But autumn soon comes a-dancing!
EVENING (FROM A HAPPY BOY)
Evening sun in beauty is shining, Lazy puss on the step's reclining. "Two small mice, Cream that was so nice, Four fine bits of fish, Stolen from a dish, And I'm so good and full, And I'm so lazy and dull!" Says the pussy.
Mother-hen her wings now is sinking, Rooster stands on _one_ leg a-thinking: "That gray goose, High he flies and loose; But just watch, you must admit, Naught he has of rooster-wit. Chickens in! To the coop away! Gladly dismiss we the sun for today!" Says the rooster.
"Dear me, it is good to be living, When life no labor is giving!" Says the song-bird.
MARIT'S SONG (FROM A HAPPY BOY)
"Dance!" called the fiddle, Its strings loudly giggled, The bailiff's man wriggled Ahead for a spree. "Hold!" shouted Ola And tripped him to tumbling, The bailiff's man humbling, To maidens' great glee.
"Hop!" said then Erik, His foot struck the ceiling, The beams rang their pealing, The walls gave a shriek. "Stop!" said now Elling, And seizing him collared, He held him and hollered: "You still are too weak!"
"Hei!" said then Rasmus, Fair Randi embracing: "Be quick now in placing The kiss that you know!"
"Nay!" answered Randi. A slapping she gave him, And from her she drave him: "Here take what I owe!"
LOVE THY NEIGHBOR (FROM A HAPPY BOY)
Love thy neighbor, to Christ be leal! Crush him never with iron-heel, Though in the dust he's lying! All the living responsive await Love with power to recreate, Needing alone the trying.
OYVIND'S SONG (FROM A HAPPY BOY)
Lift thy head, thou undaunted youth! Though some hope may now break, forsooth, Brighter a new one and higher Shall throe eye fill with its fire.
Lift thy head to the vision clear! Something near thee is calling: "Here!"-- Something with myriad voicing, Ever in courage rejoicing.
Lift thy head, for an azure height Rears within thee a vault of light; Music of harps there is ringing, Jubilant, rapturous singing.
Lift thy head and thy longing sing! None shall conquer the growing spring; Where there is life-making power, Time shall set free the flower.
Lift thy head and thyself baptize In the hopes that radiant rise, Heaven to earth foreshowing, And in each life-spark glowing!
LOVE SONG (FROM A HAPPY BOY)
Have you love for me, Yours my love shall be, While the days of life are flowing. Short was summer's stay, Grass now pales away, With our play will come regrowing.
What you said last year Sounds yet in my ear,-- Birdlike at the window sitting, Tapping, trilling there, Singing, in would bear Joy the warmth of sun befitting.
Litli-litli-lu, Do you hear me too, Youth behind the birch-trees biding? Now the words I send, Darkness will attend, May be you can give them guiding.
Take it not amiss! Sang I of a kiss? No, I surely never planned it. Did you hear it, you? Give no heed thereto, Haste I make to countermand it.
Oh, good-night, good-night Dreams enfold me bright Of your eyes' persuasive mildness. Many a silent word From their corners heard,-- Breaking forth with gentle wildness.
Now my song is still; Is there more you will? All the tones, to me returning, Laughing, luring, soar; Did you wish me more? Still and warm the night is yearning.
MOUNTAIN SONG (FROM A HAPPY BOY)
When you will the mountains roam And your pack are making, Put therein not much from home, Light shall be your taking! Drag no valley-fetters strong To those upland spaces, Toss them with a joyous song To the mountains' bases!
Birds sing Hail! from many a bough, Gone the fools' vain talking, Purer breezes fan your brow, You the heights are walking. Fill your breast and sing with joy! Childhood's mem'ries starting, Nod with blushing cheeks and coy, Bush and heather parting. If you stop and listen long, You will hear upwelling Solitude's unmeasured song To your ear full swelling; And when now there purls a brook, Now stones roll and tumble, Hear the duty you forsook In a world-wide rumble.
Fear, but pray, you anxious soul, While your mem'ries meet you! Thus go on; the perfect whole On the top shall greet you. Christ, Elijah, Moses, there Wait your high endeavor. Seeing them you'll know no care, Bless your path forever.
ANSWER FROM NORWAY TO THE SPEECHES IN THE SWEDISH HOUSE OF NOBLES, 1860 (See Note 6)
Have you heard what says the Swede now, Young Norwegian man? Have you seen what forms proceed now, Border-watch to plan? Shades of those from life departed, Our forefathers single-hearted, Who, when words like these were said, Mounted guard and knew no dread.
Says the Swede now: That our cherished Norseland's banner red, That which flew when Magnus perished, As to-day outspread, Which o'er Fredrikshald victorious And o'er Adler waved all glorious, That the Swedish yellow-blue Must in shame henceforth eschew.
Says the Swede now: Lost their luster Have our memories, Brighter honors shall we muster, If we borrow his. Bids us forth to Lützen stumble, Close this straw-thatched cottage humble, Drag our grandsire's ancient seat To the Swedes for honor meet.
Let it stand, that poor old lumber, To us dear for aye; Sweden's ground it could but cumber, And it might not pay. For, we know from history's pages, Some sat there in former ages, Sverre Priest and other men, Who may wish to come again.
Says the Swede now: We must know it, _He_ our freedom gave, But the Swedish sword can mow it, Send it to its grave. Yet the case is not alarming, He must fare with good fore-arming, For in truth some fell of yore, There where he would break a door.
Says the Swede now: We a clever Little boy remain, Very suitable to ever Hold his mantle's train. But would Christie be so pliant, With his comrades self-reliant, If they still at Eidsvold stood, Sword-girt, building Norway's good?
Big words oft the Swede was saying, Only small were we, But they never much were weighing, When the test should be. On the little cutter sailing, Wessel and Norse youth prevailing, Sweden's flag and frigate chased From the Kattegat in haste.
Sweden's noblemen are shaking Charles the Twelfth's proud hat; We, in council or war-making, Peers are for all that. If things take the worse turn in there, Aid from Torgny we shall win there. Then o'er all the Northland's skies Greater freedom's sun shall rise.
JOHAN LUDVIG HEIBERG (1860) (See Note 7)
To the grave they bore him sleeping, Him the aged, genial gardener; Now the children gifts are heaping From the flower-bed he made.
There the tree that he sat under, And the garden gate is open, While we cast a glance and wonder Whether some one sits there still.
He is gone. A woman only Wanders there with languid footsteps, Clothed in black and now so lonely, Where his laughter erst rang clear.
As a child when past it going, Through the fence she looked with longing, Now great tears so freely flowing Are her thanks that she came in.
Fairy-tales and thoughts high-soaring Whispered to him 'neath the foliage. She flits softly, gathering, storing Them as solace for her woe.
***
Far his wanderings once bore him, Bore this aged, genial searcher; One who listening sat before him Much could learn from time to time.
Life and letters were his ladder Up toward that which few discover, Thought's wide realm, with vision gladder He explored, each summit scaled.
In his manhood he defended All that greatness has and beauty; Later he the stars attended In their silent course to God.
***
Older men remember rather "New Year!" ringing o'er the Northland. How it power had to gather Leaders to a greater age
Do you him remember leaping Forth, his horn so gladly winding, Back the mob on all sides sweeping From the progress of the great?
Play of thought 'mid tears and laughter, Fauns and children were about him; Freedom's beacons high thereafter Kindled slowly of themselves.
And his words soon found a hearing, Peace of heart flowed from his music; All the land thrilled to the nearing Of a great prophetic choir.
***
In his manhood he defended All that greatness has and beauty; Later he the stars attended In their silent course to God.
Northern flowers were his pleasure, As an aged genial gardener, From his nation's springtime treasure Culling seed for deathless growth.
Now with humor, now sedately, He kept planting or uprooting, While the Danish beech-tree stately Gave his soul its evening peace.
There the tree we saw him under, And the garden gate is open, While we cast a glance and wonder Whether some one sits there still.
THE OCEAN (FROM ARNLJOT GELLINE) (See Note 8)
... Oceanward I am ever yearning, Where far it rolls in its calm and grandeur, The weight of mountain-like fogbanks bearing, Forever wandering and returning. The skies may lower, the land may call it, It knows no resting and knows no yielding. In nights of summer, in storms of winter, Its surges murmur the self-same longing.
Yes, oceanward I am ever yearning, Where far is lifted its broad, cold forehead! Thereon the world throws its deepest shadow And mirrors whispering all its anguish. Though warm and blithesome the bright sun stroke it With joyous message, that life is gladness, Yet ice-cold, changelessly melancholy, It drowns the sorrow and drowns the solace.
The full moon pulling, the tempest lifting, Must loose their hold on the flowing water. Down whirling lowlands and crumbling mountains It to eternity tireless washes. What forth it draws must the one way wander. What once is sunken arises never. No message comes thence, no cry is heard thence; Its voice, its silence, can none interpret.
Yes, toward the ocean, far out toward ocean, That knows no hour of self-atonement! For all that suffer release it offers, But trails forever its own enigma. A strange alliance with Death unites it, That _all_ it give Him,--itself excepting!
I feel, vast Ocean, thy solemn sadness, To thee abandon my weak devices, To thee let fly all my anxious longings: May thy cool breath to my heart bring healing! Let Death now follow, his booty seeking: The moves are many before the checkmate! Awhile I'll harass thy love of plunder, As on I scud 'neath thy angry eyebrows; Thou only fillest my swelling mainsail, Though Death ride fast on thy howling tempest; Thy billows raging shall bear the faster My little vessel to quiet waters.
Ah! Thus alone at the helm in darkness, By all forsaken, by Death forgotten, When sails unknown far away are wafted And some swift-coursing by night are passing, To note the ground-swell's resistless current, The sighing heart of the breathing ocean -- Or small waves plashing along the planking, Its quiet pastime amid its sadness. Then glide my lingering longings over Into the ocean-deep grief of nature, The night's, the water's united coldness Prepares my spirit for death's dark dwelling.